


My Soul

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Childhood, Children, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Married Couple, Married Life, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-06 03:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: Since Danarius, he'd been a free man. But now, holding his daughter in his arms, Fenris was once again a slave, and glad of it.





	My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Hawke Siblings:
> 
> Chance (F)/Fenris  
Tyare (M)/Anders and Airida (F)/Isabela [twins]  
Bethany (F) and Carver (M) [twins] [Wardens]

In the end, only Chance remained in Kirkwall, him just behind her. Tyare, with Anders at his heels, had fled in the face of Anders' catastrophe deep into the countryside. Isabela had taken Airida, the Champion, and ran away across the sea. 

That left Chance in the mire, standing in the ruins of Kirkwall. Not to mention that Seeker had taken Varric, likely the only person in Kirkwall who could actually pull the broken city together. 

"I don't know about you," Chance said, letting out a shaking breath after seeing her siblings to safety, "but I need a nap."

Her wit never failed to charm him and he loved her even more for it, for all the bravery she possessed, so small and fragile and ever-persevering. She wasn't the strongest or most daring of her siblings. If anything, she was ever-eclipsed by them, but she'd never been jealous of their success or envious of the reverence they garnered. She was just Chance Hawke, a somewhat sarcastic bounty hunter with a ghostly elf who haunted her steps. 

"I would rather a long sleep myself." He replied, stepping up to her and taking her hand. 

* * *

Spring was poised to fall into summer when he led her to a small grove he'd found hunting slavers. It was a beautiful place, sheltered from the mountain's harsh winds and strong rains, but fed by a small mountain creek that allowed small fruit trees to flourish, fragrant flowers to bloom at their base and along the small embankment. 

"How did you even find this place? Did Merrill get lost?"

"I found it on my own, if you must know. I hid from a rain here that night I did not return from Sundermount." He knew how much he'd worried her that particular evening, so soon after Hadriana, when she'd been sure he would run again, flee from her for good. He regretted making her feel such a way, considering the depth of his own feelings, but he knew that should he have stayed, he would only have been a wreck in her arms and a burden she didn't need. His malcontent and roiling hate would only have convinced her that he was false in his affections, a liar in his heart, too obsessed with his own ends. "But I have a use for you here."

"Surely if you wanted a tumble, you could have just asked." She smirked. "No need to work so hard."

"You are worthy of all my efforts, and many I'm unsure how to make." He pulled her closer, settling her down on a think blanket of grasses. Her fingers trailed over the red sash he wore about his wrist, one he'd not forgotten to don even as the city burned down around them. "But I've something else to ask of you. Something you are much more worthy of than a simple tumble."

"Do tell."

"I would ask you remove your gauntlets." He began to unlace his own, watching her cock her head in confusion, but do as he requested. She laid them to the side ready to be pulled on in a moment's notice should they be accosted. So far as he knew from his many excursions here, with a hefty sum of coin to act as a trial, he'd been the only person to explore this small crevasse in the mountainside. 

"Alright." She folded her hands in her lap because at the core of her being, she was Leandra's daughter, and was raised in the image of her mother. He wondered sometimes whether she would be as elegant and graceful on a bow as she was quick with her daggers, but those little claws are what personified her fierceness - so small and fragile, but willing to get filthy in blood, to try for the sake of anyone who needed her, even if it wasn't in her favour. Chance might not be a leader like her siblings, but she was a damn fine soldier, keeping her head in terrible situations enough to get everyone to safety in dire times. "What now?"

He reached back into his small supply bag. Normally it only held bandages and raw lyrium (it would seal gashes that struck through his markings, stopping it from continually burning), perhaps that myrrh-smelling ointment Merrill made him when he mentioned his scent-headaches when he remembered it. What he retrieved was a small, felt-covered box. He cradled it close, eyes flickering up nervously to hers before he regained his composure and grasped her hand. 

"Chance," Her name had always felt intimate, and he never wanted anyone but her to hear the yearning he couldn't hide in it when he spoke it, "there is no one more dear to me than you, no one I would rather offer my heart, my soul, my loyalty and my allegiance to. I know I have not been worthy of you in the past, but I wish to prove to you my commitment and dedication. I want to be yours, Chance," He held out the box, "if you would have me."

Those piercing blue eyes - alight like the clear sky itself had been embedded there - welled up with tears. Her hand trembled as it reached for the box, shook harder as she opened it with a soft, heartfelt gasp. 

"_Maker_, Fenris, how much did this cost?"

"I can make coin whenever I please." He gently grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "But you, _amatus_, are irreplaceable."

Her laugh was wet, and she couldn't help but cover her smile with her hand. "I'm going to get attacked so much more in Lowtown now. Barely a foot in the Hanged Man and the waitresses will be fitting me up for a good time."

"I have no intention of letting my attachments go unannounced."

She took a breath and really looked at him. "You keep saying that, using words that reek of possession. But of _my_ possession of _you_."

He looked away, almost ashamed. But she had never made him ashamed before - only ever been curious. She wanted to know if this was some new trauma she would need to be wary of. "I find it . . . helps. When I use the words for myself, instead of having them used on me, I make my previous chains my weapons. I am untouchable, because I am yours. If you would accept them."

She bit her lip, trying to hide the quivering. "Put it on?"

He took the small box back, delicately picking up the ring, shining white platinum with a finely cut blue diamond, and slid his hand under hers. It trembled in his grip, as hardy and callused as his own, but remained still as he slid it on. She gripped his hand back fiercely once the band was settled. 

"I don't have one for you."

He flushed. "I . . . have a tendency to melt metal when I activate the lyrium."

Chance's face firmed with resolve. "I will find a way."

"Chance, I have been wearing your mark for years." His gaze strayed without his permission to the red fabric, a rich splash of colour against his usual drab palette. "I need nothing more from you."

"One act of devotion deserves another." She argued. 

"You think your patience doesn't prove you to me? Your tolerance and continued affections?" He bumped their foreheads together. "You have polished what in me is good, shown me light in a time of darkness. _I love you_, Chance."

She cupped his cheek in return, the cool platinum burning the skin sweetly. "I love you so much, Fenris."

He couldn't help but smirk. "So, does this mean we're married?"

Her laugh tickled his lips. "Yes, it does."

It felt like his whole body lit with vigour, her very presence igniting his blood. An idea that had seemed so outlandish an hour ago even as he planned to give her the ring, to lay himself bare - she must be the Maker's own instrument, sent as a gift for his toil. His desire rose, unbidden, and made his heart quicken its beat. He could feel the low purr affect his throat, the timbre her favourite pitch. "_Good._"

She shivered, a gratifying response, and leaned into him, letting him do with her body as he would. 

| | | 

With one finger, she pushed his book back down onto the tabletop. He followed the line of her arm up to her face, halting as his eyes caught a familiar velvet box. 

"Chance?"

"I told you I would find a way to lay my own leash in your hand." She offered him the box with much less hesitation than he had possessed. The intricate diamond refracted hundreds of spots of light across the ceiling of the library from the window. 

He gingerly took the box, opening it and finding a familiar stone in the shape of a ring. 

"I want to amplify the power you already possess." She explained. "I know for a fact this will not shatter for you to use it."

"Where did you find a smith willing to shape lyrium for you?" He gently extricated the ring from its slot, sliding it without hesitation onto his hand, admiring the way the stone shifted and flared with his very thought, as though it too was a part of him. 

"I called in a half-dozen favours and sent Varric a letter." She smiled crookedly, visibly pleased that he liked her gift. "Nothing less for my husband."

"Indeed." He grinned down at his hand, cradling it in the other one as though suddenly it was sacred. Perhaps it was, since this hand now belonged to Chance. 

She tipped his head back, kissing him sweetly, purely, honestly. 

"What a joy it is to have such a marvel as a wife."

Her adoring giggle followed him the rest of the day. 

* * *

"You're-" His eyes strayed down to her stomach, flat and toned. 

"I had Anders confirm it with his spirit magic." She affirmed. "I'm pregnant."

"Wonders never cease." He approached her carefully, as though she might spook, and took her hands. "Is this what you want?"

"To have a child with my husband? Perish the thought."

"This was never something we discussed, and is not something to be backed out of." He caught her gaze. "I need to know what you intend to do."

"Planned or not, Fenris, the babe is ours. I want to see you as a father." Her blood ran cold. "Unless, that wasn't what you had in mind?"

"I-" He stuttered and looked away, ashamed once more. "I have been your lover for years, am your husband, and I still can't shake the feeling that every new turn in our lives will result in losing you. I am unworthy of this happiness, and await the moment it will be ripped away from me. I do not want to feel this way, I simply do."

"Do you want this baby? To have a child and a family with me?" She asked, intense. 

He let out a shuddering breath. "With all of my being. That's why I'm so scared."

"I understand. But I won't let you come to harm. Either of you." She pledged. 

He clutched her close. "I know."

| | | 

She vaguely remembered her mother being pregnant, and she definitely remembered other women in Lothering carrying child. She remembered their grumblings of aches and pains, not getting any help and being bogged down while pregnant. 

She was damned thankful, every day, that she had Fenris. That elf was a god among men, tending to her every whim without complaint or bargain. She was sure none of the noblemen who had courted her (thinking, mistakenly, that she was the sane Hawke sibling, ripe for taming) would have taken time from their busy days to wait on her so, offering their services without being asked. He did everything he could to be accommodating:

When morning sickness struck her, he woke with her and pulled back her hair, keeping a gentle mint palate cleanser on the vanity for her to erase the disgusting taste of bile. 

When her skin became irritable, he switched exclusively to soft cotton and linen clothes, even his leggings, and found garments suitable for her expanding size that didn't also agitate her nipples. 

When her cravings struck, he made her what he could in the kitchen, no matter the time of night. 

When her sex drive abruptly skyrocketed and it was all she could do to keep her hands off him, he was her willing servant, often foregoing his own completion to see to her needs.

When she was irrationally lonely, he would lay with her for hours, reading fluently aloud or quietly singing ballads in Tevene or bard solos in Orlesian. He even knew a few bawdy pub songs from Antiva and some absolutely filthy Fereldan limericks. 

When the baby kicked her awake all night, he laid a hand pulsing with his lyrium light, rubbing the swollen belly calm. 

When she was too big to move about freely, he aided her as a handmaid - dressing, bathing and walking her. He made her bed, combed her hair and tidied her clothes. 

"I've never seen a man so attentive." Orana mentioned off-hand one day. "He helps me scour the stairs when you sleep and beat the dust from the carpets. Do you think it is because he was a slave?"

She confronted him on it that night, her anxiety that she'd somehow made him feel obliged to serve her dogging her mind. 

"Are you quite serious?" He laughed. "Chance, you're carrying my child. Your body works tirelessly to nurture and nourish that soul within you. I could not hope to do half as much in a day as you do laying still. I wish to provide for you in your time of need, as a husband should. Allow me to?"

"If doting on me makes you happy, by all means, continue."

He cupped her jaw and kissed her, so content in his new domestic life. "It does."

She would only admit to herself how giddy his smile made her. 

| | | 

Her labour lasted thirty-eight hours, and Fenris was hypervigilant at her side. With every contraction and squeeze of her hand, he sparked blue in worry and apprehension. Suddenly, all those hours he spent caring for her made sense. She deserved it if this was the thanks she was going to get. 

"I tried to warn you." He said, sponging sweat from her brow and pulling her sticky hair from her face. "I've seen countless births as a slave, assisted in many. This is not so easy as taking a blade."

She didn't even have the breath or energy to scream, only pant and weakly moan. He fed her ice chips the whole time, keeping her hydrated and grounded in the swirling miasma of agony. 

"How did my mother do this five times?"

"I am led to believe once the first twin is out, the second is easy, barring any strange circumstance." His lyrium jolted alive with her contraction, almost anticipating them now.

Thirty-eight hour labour turned out to be the worst of it. The babe was born healthy, small, but proportionate to an elf-leaning child. She didn't tear, as she feared she would, nor did she hemorrhage. 

"You are a miracle." He managed between kisses to her face. He snipped the umbilical cord, helping the midwife catch the placenta and dispose of it. 

Her baby sniffled and began to cry, but calmed when the midwife's assistant placed the wailing tot in her arms and set her up to suckle her breast. 

Fenris moved back to her side, sliding as close as he could to them. "A girl."

"She's got pointed ears." She murmured, recognizing the awe in her own voice. 

"Indeed." His timbre was low, gravelly and warm. "Our baby girl."

"Name her. Something like your name, with a meaning."

He considered it, stroking down the babe's face as she slowly drifted off, sleep making her fall from the nipple. 

"Anima." He decided. "It means 'soul' in Tevene."

"Anima." She let herself collapse back against the supporting pillows. "Beautiful."

"Let me take her. You need your rest."

"Sure." Chance was asleep before he'd even settled down with their new child, having been unable to sleep during the labour. 

Anima sniffled, and he was grateful for continuing to wear his soft, pastel shirts without sleeves. Anima seemed soothed by the marks, reaching out with a stubby, tan little hand reaching out from the swaddling blankets. Perhaps that was due to the way she'd loved them in the womb, carrying over their soothing effect. He ignited the ones in his forearms, and his daughter gurgled in contentment. 

It had been almost five years since he was finally free of Danarius in full, and he was now a free man. His marriage (Donnic had been kind enough to walk him through the paperwork one night, the legal jargon still just outside his reading range) had not been a hard yoke by any means, and he bore the connection well, even proudly. 

But here, with Anima newborn in his arms, he was a slave once more, and glad of the chance to be so. 

* * *

Bodahn and Orana watched the gear shifts in the household after Anima's birth with a serene sense of fondness. 

It wasn't that Lady Hawke was an inattentive mother, by any means, rather that Lord Fenris (as much as he hated the title, he had married into nobility - however ignoble Chance had been when she'd accepted his contract) yearned so strongly for the babe whenever he was forced to part from her. 

"I daresay he's the one with postpartum." Lady Hawke had joked, leaning against the kitchen table with a smirk as the baby grabbed another fistful of Fenris' lengthening white hair. 

Lord Fenris had almost completely overtaken their daughter, carrying her on his hip and even waking with her during the night. Deep in the evenings, when the fires had burned low and the baby woke with the high-hung moon, he would wake with her first cry and got to her, swaddling her warmly, then bring her down into the small hall attached to the house, where parties would be held. 

Cradled in the crux of his arm, he would stand at one of the hall, straighten his back and correct his footing, then begin even pacing steps to a rhythm that existed only in his memories. In Tevene, he would begin to sing, stepping lightly but with purpose, he would move across the hall fluidly, eyes closed, hair like flowing silk in the dim lighting. He would glow dimly, lighting his own way, and twist with the grace of water to and fro across the polished marble. Only the crackle of the fire punctuated the notes he sang, for whatever song he knew, but it was deep and meaningful to him. Anima was always silent during these dances, holding one of his lyrium-stained fingers in her small, strong grip. She never cried or squirmed, just stared up at her father in calm silence, as though she felt the words in her soul, each motion of his an extension of the calm in her mind. Neither dance partner ever jolted or jarred, no room for rough movement in the lingering. 

Orana would watch him from the doorway, hiding in the shadows so he wouldn't notice and stop. But when he was there with her, everything else in the world faded away. He was never even like this with Lady Hawke, who it was clear to her that he loved desperately. Perhaps that was even why he adored Anima more than her - proof of their love, unfettered by conventions or chains and untainted by the evils in the world that had plagued both her parents. Anima would grow up in a city of recovery, scarred by its toils, but no longer on its knees, and was it not every parent's dream to have their child grow up safe and happy?

It had been Bodahn who had told her that Lord Fenris had once been a slave himself, and her former mistress, Lady Hadriana, had been an apprentice to his former master and a cruel abuser. He had been who she had slain her father to ward off, and evidently failed to do so. Both Hadriana and Danarius were corpses, likely not much more than bones rotting in some unmarked grave along with Kirkwall's poorest and filthiest. Such was what was done with unclaimed corpses in this city, since there had once been so many of them. From the look of her Lord, and his reputation, she could only imagine what had been done to him. He'd obviously been a warrior, used to exact revenge against his master's enemies and likely even his allies. That was more than evident not only from the array of weapons in the study (a great deal of which actually belonged to Lady Hawke and her siblings), but of his toned physique and unusual strength. 

But his intimate knowledge of dancing, song and the elaborate arrangements of fabrics and table raiments common to the nobility meant he'd also been a showpiece. He was well-learned, even if he'd learned to read and write as an adult, a few scant years before his child's birth, and elegant in his presentation, even though his profession gave him a sharp edge to his personality. She also found that he took great pains to be gentle with her, both in speech, command and touch. He knew both the rigours of staying still and being forced to action, and had resolved not to pass on the injustices committed against him, especially to those recovering from it themselves. She wondered if he'd suffered as other beautiful elves had, personal indignities greater than any blade wound or wandering eye, that stained the soul and the heart. She'd never been subject to that kind of interest, but she was too nervous yet of him to ask outright, or hint at all. Bodahn didn't know, and it seemed something that Lady Hawk would be unwilling to divulge. 

To her own mind, Lord Fenris had been treated the worst of all the slaves she'd ever known. With no memory from the ritual, he would have been easy to mould as the Magister saw fit, and gross lust for someone shining so would likely have overcome him. Poor Fenris, unwilling to say yes, but unable to say no, would have had to take it with no word, then be expected to wield blade and commit violence against those who had done him no harm. Perhaps they had even been too kind to him and invoked his master's ire. It was poor enough luck to have your autonomy stolen, but to have your body broken, then violated was a yoke she wasn't sure she would have been able to bear. His inner strength was what the lyrium in his skin manifested as, to her, and that he would use all that beastly strength and grace to glide around a dancing hall with his infant daughter spoke to her of exactly the kind of man he truly was. 

This man was the one that Lady Hawke had seen, past all the blood and the trauma, and had been the one she'd been reaching for as she followed him to the death of Hadriana, then Danarius. It was this man she was trying to coax forth when she offered Orana a job in the slaver's den, to save at least one slave and grant her freedom in the same breath. She had been trying to prove to him that she was a woman he could trust, rich soil in which he could plant his hope and be rewarded with its bloom. Orana was now a witness to it, the well-fed and towering tree of their love, now bearing fruit. It only made sense that the same intensity and dedication that made up the core of Lord Fenris would see his obligations through to the end.

Lord Fenris finished his long dance in the same place he started, coming to a smooth stop, leaning down in the ending pose to nudge his nose against his daughters, the sudden high peals of her laughter sparking his own low chuckles in return. He nuzzled her, teeth flashing in his wide smile as Anima squirmed, reaching to catch the hair that was tickling her forehead and shrouding them in white. 

"He's gorgeous when he smiles, isn't he?"

Orana jumped at the low voice, finding Lady Hawke behind her, lazily covered in a housecoat and little else, leaning back against a pillar and watching her husband alongside her maid.

"No need to be sorry or afraid." Lady Hawke waved a dismissive hand. She'd never had an easier household to serve than this one, with both Lord Fenris and Lady Hawke being entirely too casual and fond to be bothered to run a proper noble household. All they required was that the house was reasonably clean. Oftentimes, they would assist her in cooking or do it themselves. 

"Indeed, my lady. I've never seen a man so happy to have a child, let alone a daughter."

Hawke smiled sweetly, a matron to her core. "I hope he didn't wake you."

"I had been getting a poor night's sleep anyway, my lady. This isn't the first time I've been soothed by his song like that darling girl."

"He usually tells me to go back to sleep when he goes to tend her." Hawke affirmed. "I can't sleep well anymore without him at my side."

"It's a sweet thing you share, and I hope it never fades."

"Even if he were the type to let his affections wane, I would not allow it." Unconsciously, she played with the ring glittering on her finger. "Not unless keeping him would only do him harm."

Orana felt herself soften for her mistress, so selfless in her love, much as her husband was in his. She wasn't sure if she would ever achieve this kind of love for herself, forged in the fires of conflict and chaos, tempered by tragedy and pain, but she hoped to find something similar - passion for another that even if they did not last, she could never bring herself to regret having had. 

"I think I'll see myself back to bed, milady. Please, find your own rest as well."

"I will, don't worry. Sleep well, Orana."

Fenris' song echoed through the halls of the house well into the night, deep and melodious and changing tongues with each new tune. 

* * *

Anima, as a young girl, was vibrant and lively, taking much after her father in appearance and attitude. She had inherited his deeper skin tone, his enthralling green eyes, his straight nose and the willowy physique of the elves. Her ears, through not long and prominent, still stuck out from her hair with pointed tips. her elvhen heritage could not be more obvious, nor could her unmistakable relation to her father. Her black hair was of her mother's making, but as she grew older, it waned to a stormy, steely grey. 

She loved to play and climb, energetic and so inquisitive. It was Fenris' delight to teach her to read, and the pride he took in them reading together had illuminated him more than the lyrium ever had. She was a dedicated student, latching onto here father's multilingualism and nattering incessantly about wanting to learn how to speak them all. 

Time saw Chance teach her the piano, much as her own mother had, and the delicate craft of handwriting. Chance had been Leandra's firstborn, and as such, the one to whom all the skills of a noblewoman had been imparted. She'd made little use of them in Lothering, even less so in Kirkwall, but she had come to be grateful for them in the years following the mage rebellion, and even somewhat proud of them, giving a gift on behalf of her mother to what would have been her only biological grandchild. (Airida and Isabela had adopted an abandoned Rivaini girl by the name of Sirina, who Leandra would have also loved, but Anima would have been her only blood relative.) 

Leandra would have loved Anima's steady, flowing hand, the rapt prose she wrote and the technically consistent poetry. She would have adored the way the young girl carried herself (modelled on Fenris' straight-backed, set-shoulder posture, a personalized mix of a soldier's rigidness and a noble's refinement), but been less thrilled with her no-nonsense attitude. Anima had no patience for anyone speaking down to her, and had a flat, dry sense of humour. 

When she was old enough, Chance began to teach her how to defend herself. As loving as they were, her parents were realists to their core, and the ability to take lives was an invaluable one on the streets of Kirkwall. Anima took to the talents of a rogue with the same gusto she'd used to learn to swear in Tevene. While she was good at it, it became evident early on that she possessed a wiry kind of strength that was better lent to the inertia of a sword, rather than a dagger. Despite his reservations about inflicting his talent on someone else, Fenris had admitted that Chance didn't have the experience their daughter was looking for. 

"Do you think she will be magical?" Fenris asked her one evening, curled with her next to the fire. Anima was ten, the same age Bethany had been when her magic had manifested. 

"Will it matter if she is?"

"Of course not." He replied immediately. "Magic runs deep in both of our families, and if she is, we must be prepared to train her to wield it responsibly and safely. I would not have her make an unwitting contract with a demon, or be easily influenced by others with evil intent."

"Well, if she is, who would you have do so? There aren't many mages left in Kirkwall or the surrounding cities. Since Corypheus, they've been with the Inquisition."

"Tyare, or Bethany. Both of them are strong and measured in their power."

"With Tyare comes Anders, you realize."

"The knowledge the Circle gave him is useful information and I would have her informed as best I can provide." Fenris replied. "I do not have to like Anders to find him useful. Perhaps, however, with the Venatori, he's gained a new perspective."

"Perhaps. But from what the Queen of Ferelden said about him when she joined us for after the Emerald Graves, it is not Anders you need to change, it's Justice."

"I do not need to do anything. Justice is Anders' issue, and all of his missteps are his own to bear. Irregardless of that, if he were willing to train her, I would accept his aid."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that." He confirmed. "As I said, I don't have to like him. I've never liked him, but that never stopped me from defending him in battle. I didn't slay Merrill either, though she was foolish enough to make a pact with a demon. Indeed, we're very nearly friends."

"Ah, yes, your garden."

He raised an eyebrow. "Am I not allowed to enjoy strawberries and cherry tomatoes?"

"By all means. I enjoy seeing you shirtless." 

He chuckled against her waist, where he was laying with his head pillowed on her stomach. "You also enjoy eating the cucumbers before I can harvest them."

"Slander, sir. I'll have you stripped and flogged."

He nipped at her through the thin linen shirt. "Is that a promise?"

"I don't have leather ties at the moment."

"A shame." He laid back down.

" . . . Do you want her to be a mage?"

"I think a part of me does. I want to believe that with proper teaching and knowledge, they can be a force for good, can be careful and virtuous. But in my heart I know that such a wistful thought comes from my guilt over hoping that she will not be."

She stroked through his hair. "You're not evil for not wanting a mage child."

"Perhaps not, but I wound never forgive myself if she came to believe that I loved her any less for something beyond her control." He squeezed her. 

"I would never let her believe that. She knows you love her, my darling. There's no father in Thedas more dedicated than you."

"I can only pray that it is true, and my fears will never be realized."

Anima never did manifest magic, but something else appeared during a skirmish in her teens. She pushed back bandits on her way back from visiting Varric in the Hanged Man. An attacker caught her by surprise, scaring an instinctual reaction from her. The gauntlet sundered on impact as she caught his blade with her forearm, but it passed didn't make it past her flesh as an unnatural blue light overtook her from within. The shockwave of the release blew all the bandits back, and she was shaking hard when it faded. She fled as soon as she regained feeling in her limbs, slamming the door and fearfully calling for her parents. 

Chance caught her when she dropped to the floor, collapsing in a fit of tears. She couldn't even get the words out to explain to her mother what had happened, that she might be a mage after all. 

It was only when Fenris came home, later in the evening and worn out from a long job, that the truth wormed its way out of her. Her mother and father shared a long look, filled with their cryptic eye motions and expressions. 

"I believe I know what happened to you." Fenris started lowly. "The fault lies with me."

"How so?" 

"It appears that the lyrium in my blood has been passed on. From what you describe, you have experienced what I've called _igniting_. Without marks on your skin to guide the power, it appears to have manifested in raw power. I can teach you how I control it, but I cannot guarantee that it will work similarly to you."

"Perhaps we should call on Tyare after all." Chance ruminated. "It might act like magic."

Anima's eyes blew wide. "Will this be a beacon for templars?"

"This power is not the same. There is no way for you to manifest fire, or lightning." Fenris took her hands. "It is difficult to explain, but even if the abilities are based in the magic imbued in lyrium, it is not inherent magical talent."

"Alright." She took a shaking breath. "Alright."

Fenris gathered her in his arms, kissing along the crown of her head. "I will protect you. I swear."

She curled against him and both parents were reminded, all too suddenly, that she was only a girl of fifteen.

* * *

Anima grew up into a regal, stalwart woman. Always with her head raised high, her grip firm on Lethendralis, and her armour of dark leathers and tempered, matte steels. 

"She reminds me of you." Chance nudged him, both of them watching her drink and laugh with Varric. 

"Truly?" He cocked his head. 

"You don't realize how much you've changed, my darling." She took his hand, no longer strapped in sharp-nailed gauntlets. Indeed, he wore little to no steel any longer. He wore dark brown leggings of Dalish make - a gift from Merrill - with a soft pastel tunic without sleeves covered by a richly embroidered jacket emblazoned across the back with the house of Amell's crest and white fur across one shoulder, hiding the strap that secured his blade's halter to his chest. His new gauntlets and boots (insofar as the sheathes he wore about his ankles and shin counted) were made of soft, warm leathers. Her favour still remained firmly tied to his wrist, even as his lyrium ring shimmered that once placed, never moved. Even his wild white hair had been pushed back from his eyes, cut in a manner he more preferred, with the three lyrium dots on his forehead unapologetically visible. 

"I suppose I have." 

"She remind me of the way you looked, undaunted, out to prove a point, to settle a debt." Chance leaned on him, her own self much changed in the years since their daughter was born. She, too, wore less metal and more leather, giving into her money and wearing better clothes. She'd let her hair grow from it's practical shortness to flow down her back. She even had dresses in her closets, the poor thing - even worse, she had ones for home and ones for meetings with political figures. Not that her days of walking up to the seneschal drenched in blood was behind her, exactly, but it was no longer her primary visage when she met the man. 

Instead, Anima had taken up the mantle as a dangerous mercenary in the employ of the city. Between her vigilance for slavers and her budding career as a lethal and efficient sellsword, she did indeed reflect her parents at the turn of their fortunes. Lethendralis, still sharp and deadly-gleaming, was her closest companion, her armour black leather and pointed steel. She'd commandeered more than a few pieces from her parents until she had a more fitting ideal for herself. High-laced boots and open skin on her upper arms, showcasing thick, durable muscle. Her hair, long like her mother's, bundled up in an elaborate braid that her father had taught her. A short leather fauld with a small Amell crest in steel at her hip, a chestplate worked into the leather jerkin she wore atop her tunic and close-fitting leggings. Indeed, she was of similar build to her father; curvier than him, granted, but smaller at both the waist and the shoulder than her mother. 

"To be honest," Chance continued, conversational, "I'm surprised she doesn't get more grief, being so visibly elf-blooded."

"Do you think it has something with one of the Lords in the city being an elf and very visibly her father?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "Or that her mother is one of the Hawke siblings, the greatest scourge and salvation this city has ever seen?"

"Those could be factors." She conceded. "But that's never stopped anyone from attacking _us_."

"Anyone who attacks us either doesn't know or wants a challenge. And they die the first time, so never get a chance to kidnap our daughter, or aim to."

"I can neither confirm nor deny." She grinned back. 

He took her hand, letting himself enjoy her closeness. He still was no fan of touch in general, but with his family, he had a distinct distaste for a _lack_ of physical affections. Even Orana had gotten comfortable enough to touch his shoulder or hand in the kitchen. 

"I received a missive from the Inquisition." Chance said suddenly. 

"Oh?" He'd not heard of it beforehand, though it seemed that she'd been sitting on it for a while. 

"Yes, a request from Lady Inquistor Trevelyan. Her brother and brother-in-law are travelling in from Tevinter with their son, but do not wish for him to become involved in the Inquisition just yet."

"And?"

"As you well know, a Magister like Pavus can't trust his children to be left unattended with his enemies as vultures around him. She asked us if we would be willing to host him, since they must come to Kirkwall to cross the Waking Sea into Ferelden."

He got a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Is this for-?"

"Unfortunately." She nodded. They'd also been summoned to the internal council of the Inquisition. 

He immediately bristled, despite how he actually quite liked Magister Dorian Pavus and Lord Inquisitor Vestas Trevelyan. Their son, Felix, was unlikely to be an unworthy person, but had grown up exclusively in Tevinter. "They have some very strange priorities to ask a family of slave hunters to host an Altus."

"Who else would they trust to give him shelter? Everyone else lives in Skyhold, or Denerim."

He wanted to bristle, but forced down the instinct. "I assume he would be left in Anima's care."

"Indeed."

"Then it is her decision. She is capable of deciding whether or not she is capable."

"I suppose so." Chance kissed his cheek. "Have faith, my dear. She is your daughter, no question. We will be meeting with Pavus and Trevelyan befroe we depart anyway, since we'll be taking the same ship. You can judge them for yourself then."

They both knew that by then it wouldn't matter, because the decision would be final, but it settled some dark thing inside him that never wanted to leave his daughter in harm's way - the part that would burn the rest of the world to ensure it was so.

| | | 

Anima was fully armoured, standing next to her father at the northern city gates. A high-end carriage came to a stop before them and a clearly foreign footman hopped down to open the door and lower the step. Three men exited, the first of which was a man in royal blue, off-setting his piercing turquoise eyes (framed by the iconic tattoo that curled around an eye of a Trevelyan firstborn) and burnished orange hair. He was a broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, classically handsome man with an aristocratic feel to his aura, serene and polite to a fault. 

"Lord and Lady Hawke, so pleased to have the chance to meet with you again." He bowed to them in Ostwick custom. It was clear that he'd not let his time in Tevinter affect his person, affecting none of the pomp the culture usually afflicted its people with. 

"Charmed." Her mother smiled and inclined her head. 

"Welcome to Kirkwall, Lord Inquistor." Her father greeted. 

The man that followed Vestas Trevelyan was significantly less subtle, and very clearly the Magister. He was darker in his skin, black-haired with a moustache and a cocky attitude that reflected in the very way he walked. His clothing was elaborate and shining, a garish concoction that included his husband's blues and an array of silver plates that reflected the sun with a high, close collar and a length of cloth hanging off one side of his belt. The Magister's staff was the least adorned part of him, ironically enough, being of a pale wood, lacquered smooth, with a handgrip of ring velvet and topped with silver limbs shaped like branches wrapped around an uncut hunk of stone, blue vitriol by the looks of it. 

"Dorian." Her father greeted. 

"Fenris!" Dorian threw open his arms wide, with a warm, genial smile. "How are you, my friend? I've not had much time to write you, I'm afraid, since I've been working on the reformation laws and doing my best not to get assassinated in the process."

"I can imagine." Her father's smirk was friendly, not violent. 

"I broke a blade on one's ribs a few days ago." Vestas sighed, fond but weary. "I was hoping that for the few days before our departure, you could point me to a blacksmith or arms merchant of quality."

"I can show you to mine. He is a quality craftsman, capable of making repairs on my Blade of Mercy." Fenris gestured to the blade on his back. He'd used it since Chance had given it to him and had grown incredibly fond of it. 

The last man was markedly younger, younger than even Anima herself by at least six years. He was of similar colour to the Magister, but kept his hair longer - to his shoulder - and side parted with no facial hair to speak of. He dressed halfway between his parents, with a palate of rich, blood red against warm beige leather and polished bronze plating. He, too, was magical, if the elegant and inoffensive bronze staff at his back was anything to go by. It had one shaped star of pyrophite, but it was small and not heavy-weighted. His eyes were wine-dark, but he had a kind face, angular and strong which meant that wherever the Magister had adopted him from, it wasn't from another aristocrat. 

"My friends, I would like to formally introduce you to my son, Felix." Dorian ushered his son forward, clearly affectionate with him and very loving. 

"How did you come about him?" Her father asked, looking over the young man. 

"One of the apprentices that worked for my seamstress, Varania, got pregnant very young and was unable to support both her parents and a child, unwed as she was with the father run off. Varania mentioned it to me and I offered to take the babe."

"Allowing herself to become pregnant was her great shame." Vestas explained. He'd always had a way with the common folk, being unassuming and plainer than his husband's kind. The girl, Aurora, had been ashamed of her folly and not wished to keep the child, no matter the gender. "She did not wish to sell the babe away, or leave it at the doorstep of the Chantry, but was herself unwilling and unable to raise it."

"I see her, sometimes." Felix commented, unbothered. "She always mentions how uncanny it is that I resemble Pater, considering I'm not of his stock. She's very kind. She got married a few years ago, if I recall, to a merchant and now has two daughters and a son on the way. Or did - he's likely born now."

Anima glanced at her father, well aware of who Varania was to him, but he seemed unaffected one way or the other - not unhappy he didn't know her, nor happy for her success.

_"It simply is."_ She could practically hear him say. Once she was gone, she no longer mattered. If she could not hurt him or benefit him, her life was her own. _"What forgotten past we share is for her memory. I have no desire to linger over sealed wounds."_

"You've not met my daughter, either." Fenris inclined his head her way. "Anima, my pride and joy."

"Oh, what an absolute delight!" Dorian smiled brightly, bowing to her, astonishingly. "Last I saw you, you were but a babe in Skyhold, cranky at having your sleep disturbed when your father's cloak was moved. What a delightful woman you've grown to be."

"I've been to Skyhold?" She asked her parents, confused.

"During the Breach." Her mother supplied. "You were seven months at the time, but we showed up at the tail end of it. You were barely a year when we returned, and we've not taken you out of the Free Marches since."

"Ah." She turned back to Dorian, unsure what she should do to greet him in return. "A pleasure to meet you properly, then."

Vestas smiled wanly at his husband, then to Chance. "Shall we, then?"

"Of course. Your rooms are prepared and dinner will not be long."

Chance and Fenris led Dorian and Vestas through the city, leaving Anima and Felix to trail behind. 

"I hope in the months that I will be living here that we can become friends." Felix said softly, as though he was unwilling to draw further attention to himself. 

"As do I." She offered him a crooked smirk. "Though, you are going to have to change."

"Change?"

"You clothes mark you as a prime target for a mugging, or a body worth looting." Her smirk grew wider. "Whatever intrigue you faced in Tevinter is unlike the bald violence you'll encounter here."

"Your clothing isn't exactly subtle either." He pouted. 

"Yes, but I am a local with a reputation. You, serah, are a _tourist_ with a wallet worth raiding. And that is how most of Kirkwall will see you."

He swallowed and nodded. "Right. I will- keep that in mind."

"Don't worry." She offered her sweetest, most innocent and demure smile. "I'll protect you."

His jaw dropped and he blinked at her, stunned, before he regained his wits. "I have no doubt about that, if you swing that massive blade as easily as you flay with words."

She laughed, genuine. "Perhaps we will be friends, after all."

| | | 

The first day without her parents was weird. She'd been without them before, but knowing that this would be for months - three, if all went well; up to a year if it went poorly - before they returned made her unreasonably anxious. She couldn't even rely on Uncle Varric to assuage the feeling, as he'd gone with them. In the house, it was only her, Bodahn, Orana and Felix. 

On the third day, the Altus finally sought her out, looking much more closed and small in simpler clothes. She was in the library, reading by the window and jotting notes down. She planned on organizing it while they were gone, by the titles of the books, but she'd come across one of her old favourites and had gotten distracted. 

He knocked on the open door. "May I come in?" 

"Of course, Altus." She nodded to him, still curled against the window. She, too, was dressed down in soft cotton leggings, no shoes, and a lavender tunic with quarter sleeves. 

"I would prefer if you called me Felix." He smiled shyly. "Feels less imposing that way."

"Then you may call me Anima."

"Wonderful," He paused, like he was testing the name in his mouth, "Anima."

She shortly went back to reading, marking a note in the margin and correcting a grammatical error. 

"If you don't mind me asking," Felix interrupted again, having taken a seat on the couch near the fire, "what do you do?"

"I'm a mercenary by trade." She marked the page, setting the book aside to give him her full attention. "I also follow rumours of slavers."

"And turn them in to the guard?"

"And hunt them for sport."

"Oh." He shifted uncomfortably. "Father told me some of your family history, but I have a feeling that it was not enough of it. I don't wish to seem rude, nor invite the ire of my host."

"My father was a slave to a powerful Magister who imbued his body with lyrium in an excruciating ritual. He lost his memories predating the event, and was used as a weapon and a toy in tandem by his master and his apprentice."

"Oh."

"Indeed." She leaned more comfortably on the pillows, propping her head up on her fist. "Both Danarius and Hadriana are dead, but that does not undo the effect they had on him, nor the damage they did to him."

"I've seen many slaves in my lifetime, but there are none in my house. Only hired servants." Felix swallowed, looking down. "I want to defend my homeland, but I have nothing to say in the face of his experiences."

"There is nothing to say. Those responsible are dead, my father is free and we've not been subject to Tevinter. You, least of all, are responsible. Feel guilty for what you allow and control but do not change. The past is the past."

"That's an incredibly forgiving attitude."

"I can not be more indignant about his treatment than he himself is." She shrugged. "Besides, we should be friends, right? It will be a long few months for us otherwise, and I've no wish to make Orana and Bodahn tense. But do bear in mind that Orana is also a former slave. Best not to mention it again."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She observed him struggling to reconcile his lifestyle with these abrupt, hard truths impassively, not yet sure if she should feel badly for him. "Since you're here, how about we take an excursion, and I can introduce you to Kirkwall proper. Hightown, by far, is not the best representation of this dive of a city."

He perked up, meeting her gaze once more. "I've nothing better to do."

| | | 

"Is it the life work of you people to make me grey before my time?" Aveline sighed, sitting staunchly behind her desk in the guard barracks. 

"I'm already grey." Anima shrugged. "And you know better than to try and make me apologize for killing slavers."

Felix said nothing. She should have realized he'd never been in a full-on fight before, let alone one like they had in Kirkwall. Hopefully she didn't traumatize him. With any luck, she'd actually make a decent battlemage of him. 

"At the very least, warn me when you plan on hacking bodies apart. They're harder to dispose of that way."

"I will make a note of that."

"Dismissed." Aveline looked back down at her papers and Anima took the out for what it was. Felix was trembling finely when she took his hand. 

"Are you going to be okay?" She asked, more serious. 

"I've never been in a battle like that before."

It was barely a skirmish, but she didn't want to make him feel bad. Fighting experience was hard-won, after all, and she remembered very clearly how frightened she'd been discovering her lyrium element - and that had been a fear of her own body. 

"You're well trained, regardless." She complimented. "Your father certainly knows what he's doing when it comes to magic."

"As much as seats in the Magisterium come by birth, if you're not a capable mage, you don't make it to that seat."

"I suppose not." She chuckled. "Consider it similar here, only it's for getting home late at night. Why do you think all of our bars have beds when the city is so close?"

He paled. "I hadn't considered it."

"Don't overthink it. That's the heart of failure." She considered him for a moment. "I should teach you to use your staff as a weapon."

"I already cast spells from it?" He cocked his head at her. 

"No, as in a physical blow. My Uncle Tyare uses his staff that way, with a blade on one end, a weight on the other and magic at long range."

"I . . . see."

"It'll be fun."

"You said the same thing about the slavers we just massacred."

"I said it would be fun _for me_." She winked. "For you, it would be educational."

"Right." He shuddered. "I'll watch out for your sly words."

"I thought at as a 'Vint, you'd have been good at them."

"I'm adopted. Not enough pretentious blood."

She snorted. "I'm sure they'll make one of you yet."

"I wouldn't count on it. Father is very resilient to their charms."

She raised an eyebrow. "Vestas _married_ Dorian. Resilient my ass."

"Pater isn't much like the other 'Vints either. He's very openly enjoying his life with a male partner, for one. You wouldn't understand the kind of scandal that is there."

"I suppose I wouldn't. The other two of my mother's siblings that are in relationships are both into their own gender as well."

"I should like to meet them."

"Perhaps not. Isabela is . . . an acquired taste." 

"I see."

"Regardless, I think you've had enough excitement for one day. Let's go home."

| | | 

The summit to Skyhold took four months, and all the participants headed back abroad were exhausted and eager for home. The only one undisturbed seemed to be Vestas, who was unflappable at the worst of times and downright impregnable at his best. 

"How did you fall in love with him?" Chance asked as Vestas stood at the helm of the ship, discussing wind patterns with the captain. 

"The poor bastard fell in love with me at first sight." Dorian sighed. "I can't help that I'm so pretty, you know."

She chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Truth is, he was just so incredibly kind." Dorian got more serious, gazing at his husband with deep and lasting affection. "He cared for my thoughts and opinions, considered me useful and _valuable_, both as a companion and as a friend. I tried not to become too invested in him, as it seemed to just be part of his personality, but then be began to flirt with me, tantalize me with his words and the very way he _looked_ at me, as though I was naked in his presence and he _hungered_. It was hard to resist him for so long, to not immediately let him sweep me away. Something in me warned that he _mattered_, and I couldn't abide letting this bond and trust go astray for sex, no matter how incredible it may have been."

"When did you decide?"

"When he was merciful to my former patron at my request, even though he did terrible things. When he stood next to me to confront my father, when he went out of his way to get back an heirloom for me when I specifically asked him not to." He was so clearly lovesick, it was almost disgusting. "There are thousands of moments like that. But I suppose that I first began to nurse feelings when he didn't judge me immediately for being Tevinter."

"I know the feeling." Fenris cut in, standing on her other side. 

Dorian glanced over at them, smiling brightly. "You two only get cuter the more I see you! I'll have to make an effort to get down South more often."

Fenris appreciated Dorian's tact in not inviting them to their family home in Minrathous. "I'm sure it would be educational for your son to be outside of Tevinter more often."

"Perhaps your daughter can teach him." Dorian commented. "I don't have the perspective necessary to teach him about the world, unfortunately. Vestas may, but he spent little time beyond the Free Marches before now."

"Perhaps, with some of the young ones from Skyhold, they could form a company." Chance mused. "Would it not make a grand tale, for the children of heroes to traipse around and make a name for themselves?"

"A splendid idea! Cullen's daughter, maybe King Alistair's son! How grand!"

She giggled, taking Fenris' hand. He squeezed it back. "Grand indeed."

| | | 

Dorian, Vestas and Varric followed Chance and Fenris back to the Amell estate, word sent ahead of their arrival some time ago to the servants. 

They were promptly greeted by Bodahn and Orana (who gave her mistress and master each a firm and joyful hug - Fenris hugged her back with a gentle pat to her shoulder). 

"Where's Anima?" Fenris asked. 

"In the back, play-fighting with Felix." Bodahn reported. "They've become awful close, your lordship."

Varric laughed boisterously. "Oh, this I have to see."

The dwarf led the way through the mansion as though he was the one who lived there, and into the backyard. Normally, in mansions, this was an elaborate garden or well-tended seating area with birdbaths and ponds. Chance and Fenris were more practical people than that, and the front half of the yard close to the house was a bricked area with dummies, targets and a dirt sparring ring equipped with a small shed with wooden weapons to practise with. 

Anima and Felix were not trading blows with mock-swords and daggers or the blunted ends of staffs - they were grappling. Rather, it appeared that Anima was attempting to teach Felix the art of bare-hand combat. Felix had her in an intimate grip, but the five combat veterans saw the same gap that Anima did and she slipped from him, twisting around quickly to knock his feet out from under him. With an _oof_, Felix landed on his side hard, but Anima was swift to capture both wrists and push him face-down into the dirt, looming above him as he tried to get his legs under him for leverage and failed. Anima was a strong woman (she reminded Varric of Cassandra sometimes, and wasn't there an image) and an excellent fighter. Felix hadn't stood a chance, and now he stopped struggling, conceding to the clear victor. 

"Hmph." Varric grinned. "Like father, like son."

"Hey!" Dorian barked back, trust violated. "It's true, but you needn't say it."

Vestas suppressed a smile. 

Anima flipped her hair over her other shoulder and looked up at them, immediately releasing her 'Vint captive. "You're home! Welcome back."

Felix remained on the ground for a moment longer before hauling himself up out of the dirt with a groan. "You have good timing. That was the sixth time this hour that she's pressed my face to the dirt."

Dorian tittered. "And such a handsome thing to waste, too. Come, we'll get you cleaned up. Dinner will be soon, we're told, and I can't have you at our hosts' table looking like a brigand."

"He's looked worse to sit for dinner, I assure you." Anima smirked. "Spars in the mud have done him no favours."

"Don't remind me." Felix huffed. 

"Of course, Princess." She winked. "Get dusted off and your nails filed."

Fenris's smirk was feral. "Pavus, I'm liking your idea more and more."

"Good." Dorian smirked back. "I could use another in-law."

"Wait, what?" Both Anima and Felix exclaimed. 

"Ah, to be young again." Varric sighed dreamily, wandering back into the house. "And the irony of it, too! I should get back into romance serials. I know I'd have Cassandra by the balls."

Vestas snorted hard, flushing when he realized he did. 

"So he is human! By the Maker, I was starting to think you'd married a very polite statue." Chance poked. 

"He makes better sounds than that, I assure you."

"Pater!"

"Yes, yes." Dorian shuffled him along. "Let's freshen you up."

* * *

There were a great many heroes across Thedas, though not all of them had chosen the path of child-rearing. 

Of the Warden Company which had stopped the Fifth Blight single-handedly, only Adessa Cousland and Penra Aedeucan had done so. Adessa was married to King Alistair and had worked tirelessly to find a way to rid them both of the Blight to conceive their only child, their son Adrain. Eyarin Mahariel and her lover Zevran Ariani were too whimsical and causing too much trouble in Antiva to bother with little ones. Penra and her twin bother Jaris, the middle siblings of the Aedeucan household who had been framed for their eldest brother's murder by the youngest, had returned to Orzammar to take the throne once Harrowmont passed. Jaris had no interest in women and remained a Warden, working with the Legion of the Dead. Penra married her Second and because Orzammar's Queen, mothering two daughters and three sons who remained at her side. The other dwarf on their journey, Larin Brosca, had vanished with Morrigan into the night after the final battle with the Archdemon. They had reappeared in Orlais during the Breach, a boy named Kieran trailing them that was created who-knows-when, but became a steady figure at Adrain's side when the boy grew into a man. 

Of the Hawke family, Bethany and Carver had thrown themselves full-force into their duties as Wardens, though there was rumour of a budding romance between Warden-Captain Nathaniel Howe and Bethany. Of the elder twins, Tyare and Anders had no desire for more worries nor particular fondness for children (though they enjoyed those of Tyare's sisters). Airida (the Champion) and Isabela had adopted a Rivaini girl by the name of Sirina and adored her to bits, five years or so younger than Anima. She took after Isabela, in class as well as attire, though was more alike in personality to Airida, with her ever-present and deadly smirk but unyielding appeal to justice and morality. (They made on odd pair, one firm and fair while the other was a whore pirate, but perhaps their differences balanced them.)

Of the Inquisitors, there were six. Faeryn Trevelyan was the face of the Inquisition and bore the final say. She had girded her cart to her Commander, Cullen Rutherford, and produced a beautiful girl who looked identical to her father by the name of Alyrra, Prince Adrain's yearmate. Faeryn's first cousin and best friend, Vestas, had married Dorian and, as mentioned, adopted Felix, who was a year shy of Alyrra. Seardea Lavellan had taken Solas to her bed, though refused to marry him. They bore two sons; Fen, an archer with his mother's tense and aggressive attitude, and Elldran, who was serene and somewhat whimsical, appearing to have walked out of a painting with his long auburn hair and airy expression. Fen was Felix's age, Elldran three years their junior. Dwarven twins Imata and Tira Cadash had taken lovers themselves, the Iron Bull and Josephine Montilyet respectively. The Bull and Imata had only one child, a sturdy daughter with no horns called Kala. Atalanta Adaar had remained in a stable relationship with the prankster Sera, and both seemed inclined to be only aunts. Atalanta's brother, Ankaios - who had not garnered the mark, but had been found looking for his sister in the rubble - had caught the eye of none other than Cassandra Pentaghast, Divine Victoria herself. They had three children: Aeneas (Alyrra's age), Chryseis (two years younger) and Hector (three years younger than Chryseis), all proudly Qunari-esque in appearance. 

Of them, Anima and Felix had been the outliers. They were too far away by travel and estranged from the workings of the political sphere. Even Sirina had been by Skyhold a few times with her mothers, passing off relics and news, and had charmed her way into a correspondence with Chryseis. Like mothers, like daughter. 

When the two of them arrived in Skyhold, they were both anxious and unwilling to telegraph it. 

"I had expected it to be both bigger and smaller." Felix whispered to her. "Odd as that may sound."

"I understand the feeling perfectly."

They were met at the bottom of the stairs up the battlements by Aeneas. He was broad like his father, and nearly as tall, with gently-sloping horns capped in bronze. His skin wasn't the same grey as Ankaios, more pink, with golden eyes. "Welcome, friends. I'm Aeneas Pentaghast."

"Anima Hawke and Felix Pavus, at your service." Anima inclined her head. 

"No need to be so formal, I promise." Aeneas smiled and it struck them both how _handsome_ it was. But then, he did come from very good stock. "We're all alike here, and I hope you'll find friends, if not more family. I'll introduce you."

Aeneas led them into the tavern first, where his siblings were sitting amongst the Chargers. Chryseis was rivalled Aeneas in height, though was of slim build. She, like Atalanta, had magical talent that she put into a heavy chain mace. She shared her brother's complexion, though her eyes were dark and her horns twisted out behind her like gnarled branches. Hector was shorter than his siblings, but stockier, with a salmon complexion and no horns, but an angular face and pointed ears. 

"So, you're Dorian's minion, eh?" Bull called, waving them over. "Nice to meet you. And you're Fenris' munchkin. Look a lot like him. Everyone looks like their fathers in this company. Weird."

"I'm sorry he can't just say hi like normal people." Imata appeared from the mess of limbs that was the day-drunk Chargers with a shit-eating grin. "Welcome to Skyhold."

"Thank you, Imata." 

"Good, he did tell you." She nodded. "I don't like it when people are too formal. Makes me feel like they're plotting my assassination."

"That's fair, considering all that's happened." Felix mused. 

"Indeed it is." Imata waved them off. "There's much more to see, more people to meet. You can return here tonight and get sloppy drunk to your heart's content."

Aeneas shook his head, but led them back out. "I was instructed by the Commander to introduce you to your future companions. You might meet the older generation among them, but that's not my intent."

"That's fine. We only know them from stories anyway. It will be nice to put a face to the name." Anima replied. 

Sirina found them in the main hall and attached herself to Anima right away, yammering on and on about life at sea and insisting she leave land behind and become a Raider. 

"You're on land right now."

"Shut up." Sirina pouted. "Don't be cruel."

"Then be reasonable."

Felix muffled his laugh with a cough. 

Aeneas led them to the Commander's office, where they found Cullen and Alyrra in deep conversation with Adrain and Kieran over a map. They all lookedup when they entered.

"Ah, we were expecting you." Cullen nodded. "Welcome."

"Thank you for having us, Uncle Cullen." Felix grinned as Alyrra came up to him, hugging him tightly, then offering Anima her hand. 

"Indeed, welcome to Skyhold. We were just finalizing some plans before departure, but it can be resumed another time. I'd like you to meet Prince Adrain Theirin of Ferelden and his half-brother, Kieran."

"A pleasure." Kieran drawled. 

Adrain smiled brightly, like a mabari puppy, and waved. "Hello! Nice to meet you."

"We'll get the chance to know each other better later, I promise." Alyrra said. "For now, we won't keep you from meeting the others."

Next came two elves, who were lounging on the battlements and chatting. 

"Ah, so they've come." The one with long hair said as he slipped from the stone. His black eyes flashed blue, but it was gone in an instant. "I am Elldran, and this is my brother, Fen."

"I'm the smart one." Fen smirked. "I just let him pretend he is."

"I live _in_ the library."

"You also tried to east soup with the wrong end of a fork yesterday. My common sense is invaluable."

"This is very true, actually." Aeneas narrated. "Elldran does very stupid things all the time. He just happens to be an intensely powerful mage."

"It's my training, mostly. Father is very rigorous."

Fen snorted. "He's got nothing on Mother dangling me from a tree by a rope until I was able to shoot the centre of a target whole falling from the tree."

Elldran paused thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose so. Rigorous in different ways, perhaps."

"Moving on." Aeneas cut in, ushering the horrified 'Vint and snickering Hawke along the wall.

In the gardens in the back they found their last acquaintance, Kala. Being the daughter of a massive Qunari man and a slim dwarf woman had lent her somewhat of a strange look. She was pale, with dark eyes and brown hair braided behind horns curved similar to a ram's. She was halfway in height between a man and an elf - like Anima - but was thick and broadly muscular. She looked to be a stout, hardy woman, with a keen gaze and quiet countenance that lent to a cunning aura. 

"Iron Bull was Ben-Hassrath before." Aeneas explained as they approached. "He's taught her much of what he knows. So don't take it more personally than it is intended."

"My father is a former slave. I know suspicion and judgement are not personal on my behalf." Anima nodded. 

She looked up from the notebook she was writing in, putting it to the side and standing as they approached. "You must be Felix and Anima. Nice to meet you. I'm Kala Cadash, though I'm sure Aeneas told you that. I gotta say, I like how many of us half-breeds there are."

Anima smirked back. "Don't I know it."

"I like you already."

| | | 

There was something harrowing about being in a dangerous situation together, and it was easy to see why their parents' bonds were so strong. 

Felix collapsed next to the fire of camp, lit by Chryseis with an angry flick of her wrist. Anima dropped down next to him, still shaking from the Spirit Pulse that had shattered the demon lines. 

"I'll take first watch." Aeneas announced. "Everyone, get some rest and calm your nerves."

"I'll join you." Kala replied. 

Adrain touched the gash across Alyrra's eye - thankfully not having gouged it out - and wiping away the blood. She smiled wanly at him, shedding the bulky plate she normally wore that had been rent asunder. 

"This is going well." Sirina muttered as she went to her own tent. 

"Being pessimistic isn't going to help the situation any." Chryseis replied. "Our parents accomplished what they thought they could not. So will we."

"You know that every battle is a game of chance, right?"

Felix blocked out the upcoming argument as Anima's shaking hands took his, beginning to wrap the broken skin and bruised joints in gauze.

"Anima, please." He murmured, stopping her. "Take a moment for yourself. I'll be fine."

Her eyes were slowly dimming, though it still shone dimly under her skin. "I have to do something. The more I think about it, the more it rises."

With a split-second decision, he pulled her into his arms, holding her as tightly as his damaged hands would allow. She shook for the better part of another hour, but by the time the sun had set on the sandy horizons, she was merely cold, not suffering from lyrium's lingering burn. 

"Sleep in my tent tonight." He trailed his hand over hers. "Please. I don't want you to be alone."

"Alright." She agreed, helping him to a stand and leading the way to his tent. Hector, who was nearer to them, nodded. Fen was in his own arms, sleeping soundly against his lover.

Chryseis and Sirina's heated argument had died down a while ago, and the two were passed out in their tent, likely with Sirina sprawled on top of her Qunari lover. Elldran remained at the fire, tending it and preparing in advance for a morning meal. They wouldn't have long to rest here before needing to move on and find a more permanent shelter before regrouping and making their way back east into Orlais. 

But, at the very least, they'd escaped the sand-buried Tevinter temple alive, and intact, with the relic they'd gone in to collect. 

He wondered, staring at Anima's cinched face in her sleep, if this was how love had formed in their parents. Had this intense devotion and desire to protect become love and care, these pains binding them? Is this the same fear his Pater mentioned feeling when Father didn't immediately follow him out of the Fade? When they went to face Corypheus? Maker have mercy on him.

He smoothed her brow with his thumb and she calmed. 

_Maker have me_, he smiled, _I hope it is love._

* * *

Fenris watched Anima and Felix part when he was ready to return to Tevinter. It was a bittersweet thing, to have his daughter back in his city, under his protection but well aware that she was no longer a girl. 

Once Felix had disappeared over the horizon on horseback, she turned to re-enter the city and jumped to find him lurking there. 

"You're not upset with me, are you?" She asked, uncharacteristically shy and coy. "Because he's Tevinter?"

He walked up to her, cupping her face and kissing the tip of her nose, like he did when she was a baby. "My heart, my most darling girl," he smiled for her, pressing their foreheads together, "I am happy for you."

She gripped his wrists, one hand wrapping over the crimson sash, sun-faded with age and use, that still adorned it. "I love you."

"And I love you more, _mi animus._"


End file.
